CHAPTER VI. THE SEVEN SUPPERS OF ANDREA KORUST
Peter, Baron de Grost, was enjoying what he had confidently lookedforward to as an evening's relaxation, pure and simple. He sat in one ofthe front rows of the stalls of the Alhambra, his wife by his sideand an excellent cigar in his mouth. An hour or so ago he had been intelephonic communication with Paris, had spoken with Sogrange himself,and received his assurance of a calm in political and criminal affairsamounting almost to stagnation. It was out of season, and, though hispopularity was as great as ever, neither he nor his wife had any socialengagements; hence this evening at a music hall, which Peter, for hispart, was finding thoroughly amusing.
The place was packed--some said owing to the engagement of Andrea Korustand his brother, others to the presence of Mademoiselle Sophie Celairein her wonderful danse des apaches. The violinist that night had a greatreception. Three times he was called before the curtain; three timeshe was obliged to reiterate his grateful but immutable resolve never toyield to the nightly storm which demanded more from a man who has givenof his best. Slim, with the worn face and hollow eyes of a genius, hestood and bowed his thanks, but when he thought the time had arrived, hedisappeared, and though the house shook for minutes afterwards, nothingcould persuade him to reappear.
Afterwards came the turn which, notwithstanding the furore caused byAndrea Korust's appearance, was generally considered to be equallyresponsible for the packed house--the apache dance of MademoiselleSophie Celaire. Peter sat slightly forward in his chair as the curtainwent up. For a time he seemed utterly absorbed by the performance.Violet glanced at him once or twice curiously. It began to occur to herthat it was not so much the dance as the dancer in whom her husband wasinterested.
"You have seen her before--this Mademoiselle Celaire?" she whispered.
"Yes," said Peter, nodding, "I have seen her before."
The dance proceeded. It was like many others of its sort, only a littlemore daring, a little more finished. Mademoiselle Celaire, in hertight-fitting, shabby black frock, with her wild mass of hair, herflashing eyes, her seductive gestures, was, without doubt, a marvelousperson. Peter, Baron de Grost, watched her every movement with absorbedattention. When the curtain went down he forgot to clap. His eyesfollowed her off the stage. Violet shrugged her shoulders. She waslooking very handsome herself in a black velvet dinner gown, and a hatso exceedingly Parisian that no one had had the heart to ask her toremove it.
"My dear Peter," she remarked, reprovingly, "a moderate amount ofadmiration for that very agile young lady I might, perhaps, be inclinedto tolerate; but, having watched you for the last quarter of an hour, Iam bound to confess that I am becoming jealous."
"Of Mademoiselle Celaire?" he asked.
"Of Mademoiselle Sophie Celaire."
He leaned a little towards her. His lips were parted; he was about tomake a statement or a confession. Just then a tall commissionaire leanedover from behind and touched him on the shoulder.
"For Monsieur le Baron de Grost," he announced, handing Peter a note.
Peter glanced towards his wife.
"You permit me?" he murmured, breaking the seal.
Violet shrugged her shoulders, ever so slightly. Her husband was alreadyabsorbed in the few lines hastily scrawled across the sheet of notepaperwhich he held in his hand.
MONSIEUR LE BARON DE GHOST. Dear Monsieur le Baron, 4 Come to my dressing-room, without 4 fail, as soon as you receive this. SOPHIE CELAIRE.
Violet looked over his shoulder.
"The hussy!" she exclaimed, indignantly. Her husband raised hiseyebrows. With his forefinger he merely tapped the two numerals.
"The Double-Four!" she gasped.
He looked around and nodded. The commissionaire was waiting. Peter tookup his silk hat from under the seat.
"If I am detained, dear," he whispered, "you'll make the best of it,won't you? The car will be here and Frederick will be looking out foryou."
"Of course," she answered, cheerfully. "I shall be quite all right."
She nodded brightly and Peter took his departure. He passed through adoor on which was painted "Private," and through a maze of scenery andstage hands and ballet ladies by a devious route to the region of thedressing-rooms. His guide conducted him to the door of one of these andknocked.
"Entrez, monsieur," a shrill feminine voice replied.
Peter entered and closed the door behind him. The commissionaireremained outside. Mademoiselle Celaire turned to greet her visitor.
"It is a few words I desire with you as quickly as possible, if youplease, Monsieur le Baron," she said, advancing towards him. "Listen."
She had brushed out her hair and it hung from her head straight and alittle stiff, almost like the hair of an Indian woman. She had washedher face, too, free of all cosmetics and her pallor was almost waxen.She wore a dressing gown of green silk. Her discarded black frock layupon the floor.
"I am entirely at your service, mademoiselle," Peter answered, bowing."Continue, if you please."
"You sup with me to-night--you are my guest."
He hesitated.
"I am very much honored," he murmured. "It is an affair of urgency,then? Mademoiselle will remember that I am not alone here."
She threw out her hands scornfully.
"They told me in Paris that you were a genius!" she exclaimed. "Cannotyou feel, then, when a thing is urgent? Do you not know it withoutbeing told? You must meet me with a carriage at the stage door in fortyminutes. We sup in Hamilton Place with Andrea Korust and his brother."
"With whom?" Peter asked, surprised.
"With the Korust Brothers," she repeated. "I have just been talking toAndrea. He calls himself a Hungarian. Bah! They are as much Hungarian,those young men, as I am!"
Peter leaned slightly against the table and looked thoughtfully at hiscompanion. He was trying to remember whether he had ever heard anythingof these young men.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "the prospect of partaking of any meal in yourcompany is in itself enchanting, but I do not know your friends, theKorust Brothers. Apart from their wonderful music, I do not recollectever having heard of them before in my life. What excuse have I, then,for accepting their hospitality? Pardon me, too, if I add that you havenot as yet spoken as to the urgency of this affair."
She turned from him impatiently and, throwing herself back into thechair from which she had risen at his entrance, she began to exchangethe thick woolen stockings which she had been wearing upon the stage forothers of fine silk.
"Oh, la, la!" she exclaimed. "You are very slow, Monsieur le Baron. Itis, perhaps, my stage name which has misled you. I am Marie Lapouse.Does that convey anything to you?"
"A great deal," Peter admitted, quickly. "You stand very high upon thelist of my agents whom I may trust."
"Then stay here no longer," she begged, "for my maid waits outside and Ineed her services. Go back and make your excuses to your wife. In fortyminutes I shall expect you at the stage door."
"An affair of diplomacy, this, or brute force?" he inquired.
"Heaven knows what may happen!" she replied. "To tell you the truth, Ido not know myself. Be prepared for anything, but, for Heaven's sake, gonow! I can dress no further without my maid, and Andrea Korust may comein at any moment. I do not wish him to find you here."
Peter made his way thoughtfully back to his seat. He explained thesituation to his wife so far as he could, and sent her home. Then hewaited about until the car returned, smoking a cigarette and trying oncemore to remember if he had ever heard anything from Sogrange of AndreaKorust or his brother. Punctually at the time stated he was outsidethe stage door of the music-hall, and a few minutes later MademoiselleCelaire appeared, a dazzling vision of fur and smiles and jewelryimperfectly concealed. A small crowd pressed around to see the famousFrenchwoman. Peter handed her gravely across the pavement into hiswaiting car. One or two of the loungers gave vent to
a groan of envy atthe sight of the diamonds which blazed from her neck and bosom. Petersmiled as he gave the address to his servant and took his place by theside of his companion.
"They see only the externals, this mob," he remarked. "They picture tothemselves, perhaps, a little supper for two. Alas!"
Mademoiselle Celaire laughed at him softly.
"You need not trouble to assume that most disconsolate of expressions,my dear Baron," she assured him. "Your reputation as a man of gallantryis beyond question; but remember that I know you also for the mostdevoted and loyal of husbands. We waste no time in folly, you and I. Itis the business of the Double-Four."
Peter was relieved, but his innate politeness forbade his showing it.
"Proceed," he said.
"The Brothers Korust," she went on, leaning towards him, "have a week'sengagement at the Alhambra. Their salary is six hundred pounds. Theyplay very beautifully, of course, but I think that it is as much as theyare worth."
Peter agreed with her fervently. He had no soul for music.
"They have taken the furnished house belonging to one of your dukes, inHamilton Place, for which we are now bound; taken it, too, at a fabulousrent," Mademoiselle Celaire continued. "They, have installed there achef and a whole retinue of servants. They are here for seven nights;they have issued invitations for seven supper parties."
"Hospitable young men they seem to be," Peter murmured. "I read in oneof the stage papers that Andrea is a Count in his own country, and thatthey perform in public only for the love of their music and for the sakeof the excitement and travel."
"A paragraph wholly inspired and utterly false," Mademoiselle Celairedeclared, firmly, sitting a little forward in the car, and laying herhand, ablaze with jewels, upon his coat sleeve. "Listen. They callthemselves Hungarians. Bah! I know that they are in touch with a greatEuropean court, both of them, the court of the country to which theybelong. They have plans, plans and schemes connected with their visithere, which I do not understand. I have done my best with Andrea Korust,but he is not a man to be trusted. I know that there is something morein these seven supper parties than idle hospitality. I and others likeme, artistes and musicians, are invited, to give the assembly a properlyBohemian tone; but there are to be other guests, attracted there, nodoubt, because the papers have spoken of these gatherings."
"You have some idea of what it all means, in your mind?" Petersuggested.
"It is too vague to put into words," she declared, shaking her head. "Wemust both watch. Afterwards, we will, if you like, compare notes."
The car drew up before the doors of a handsome house in Hamilton Place.A footman received Peter and relieved him of his hat and overcoat. Atrim maid performed the same office for Mademoiselle Celaire. They met,a moment or two later, and were ushered into a large drawing-room inwhich a dozen or two of men and women were already assembled, and fromwhich came a pleasant murmur of voices and laughter. The apartmentwas hung with pale green satin; the furniture was mostly Chippendale,upholstered in the same shade. A magnificent grand piano stood open in asmaller room, just visible beyond. Only one thing seemed strange to thetwo newly arrived guests. The room was entirely lit with shaded candles,giving a certain mysterious but not unpleasant air of obscurity to thewhole suite of apartments. Through the gloom, the jewels and eyes of thewomen seemed to shine with a new brilliance. Slight eccentricities oftoilette, for a part of the gathering was distinctly Bohemian, weresoftened and subdued. The whole effect was somewhat weird, but alsopicturesque.
Andrea Korust advanced from a little group to meet his guests. Off thestage he seemed at first sight frailer and slighter than ever. His dresscoat had been exchanged for a velvet dinner jacket, and his white tiefor a drooping black bow. He had a habit of blinking nearly all thetime, as though his large brown eyes, which he seldom wholly opened,were weaker than they appeared to be. Nevertheless, when he came towithin a few paces of his newly arrived visitors, they shone with plentyof expression. Without any change of countenance, however, he held outhis hand.
"Dear Andrea," Mademoiselle Celaire exclaimed, "you permit me that Ipresent to you my dear friend, well known in Paris--alas! many yearsago--Monsieur le Baron de Grost. Monsieur le Baron was kind enough topay his respects to me this evening, and I have induced him to become myescort here."
"It was my good fortune," Peter remarked, smiling, "that I sawMademoiselle Celaire's name upon the bills this evening--my goodfortune, since it has procured for me the honor of an acquaintance witha musician so distinguished."
"You are very kind, Monsieur le Baron," Korust replied.
"You stay here, I regret to hear, a very short time?"
"Alas!" Andrea Korust admitted, "it is so. For myself I would that itwere longer. I find your London so attractive, the people so friendly.They fall in with my whims so charmingly. I have a hatred, you know, ofsolitude. I like to make acquaintances wherever I go, to have delightfulwomen and interesting men around, to forget that life is not always gay.If I am too much alone, I am miserable, and when I am miserable I am ina very bad way indeed. I cannot then make music."
Peter smiled gravely and sympathetically.
"And your brother? Does he, too, share your gregarious instincts?"
Korust paused for a moment before replying. His eyes were quite wideopen now. If one could judge from his expression, one would certainlyhave said that the Baron de Grost's attempts to ingratiate himself withhis host were distinctly unsuccessful.
"My brother has exactly opposite instincts," he said slowly. "He findsno pleasure in society. At the sound of a woman's voice, he hides."
"He is not here, then?" Peter asked, glancing around.
Andrea Korust shook his head.
"It is doubtful whether he joins us this evening at all," he declared."My sister, however, is wholly of my disposition. Monsieur le Baron willpermit that I present him."
Peter bowed low before a very handsome young woman with flashingblack eyes, and a type of features undoubtedly belonging to one of thecountries of eastern Europe. She was picturesquely dressed in a gownof flaming red silk, made as though in one piece, without trimming orflounces, and she seemed inclined to bestow upon her new acquaintanceall the attention that he might desire. She took him at once into acorner and seated herself by his side. It was impossible for Peter notto associate the empressement of her manner with the few words whichAndrea Korust had whispered into her ear at the moment of theirintroduction.
"So you," she murmured, "are the wonderful Baron de Grost. I have heardof you so often."
"Wonderful!" Peter repeated, with twinkling eyes. "I have neverbeen called that before. I feel that I have no claims whatever todistinction, especially in a gathering like this."
She shrugged her shoulders and glanced carelessly across the room.
"They are well enough," she admitted, "but one wearies of genius onevery side of one. Genius is not the best thing in the world to livewith, you know. It has whims and fancies. For instance, look at theserooms--the gloom, the obscurity--and I love so much the light."
Peter smiled.
"It is the privilege of genius," he remarked, "to have whims and toindulge in them."
She sighed.
"To do Andrea justice," she said, "it is, perhaps, scarcely a whim thathe chooses to receive his guests in semi-darkness. He has weak eyesand he is much too vain to wear spectacles. Tell me, you know every onehere?"
"No one," Peter declared. "Please enlighten me, if you think itnecessary. For myself," he added, dropping his voice a little, "I feelthat the happiness of my evening is assured, without making any furtheracquaintances."
"But you came as the guest of Mademoiselle Celaire," she reminded him,doubtfully, with a faint regretful sigh and a provocative gleam in hereyes.
"I saw Mademoiselle Celaire to-night for the first time for years,"Peter replied. "I called to see her in her dressing-room and she claimedme for an escort this evening. I am, alas! a very occasional wanderer inthe pleasant paths of Bohemi
a."
"If that is really true," she murmured, "I suppose I must tell yousomething about the people, or you will feel that you have wasted youropportunity."
"Mademoiselle," Peter whispered.
She held out her hand and laughed into his face.
"No!" she interrupted. "I shall do my duty. Opposite you is MademoiselleTrezani, the famous singer at Covent Garden. Do I need to tell you that,I wonder? Rudolf Maesterling, the dramatist, stands behind her therein the corner. He is talking to the wonderful Cleo, whom all the worldknows. Monsieur Guyer there, he is manager, I believe, of the Alhambra;and talking to him is Marborg, the great pianist. One of the ladiestalking to my brother is Esther Braithwaite, whom, of course, you knowby sight; she is leading lady, is she not, at the Hilarity? The otheris Miss Ransome; they tell me that she is your only really great Englishactress."
Peter nodded appreciatively.
"It is all most interesting," he declared. "Now tell me, please, whois the military person with the stiff figure and sallow complexion,standing by the door? He seems quite alone."
The girl made a little grimace.
"I suppose I ought to be looking after him," she admitted, risingreluctantly to her feet. "He is a soldier just back from India--aGeneral Noseworthy, with all sorts of letters after his name. IfMademoiselle Celaire is generous, perhaps we may have a few minutes'conversation later on," she added, with a parting smile.
"Say, rather, if Mademoiselle Korust is kind," De Grost replied, bowing."It depends upon that only."
He strolled across the room and rejoined Mademoiselle Celaire a fewmoments later. They stood apart in a corner.
"I should like my supper," Peter declared.
"They wait for one more guest," Mademoiselle Celaire announced.
"One more guest! Do you know who it is?"
"No idea," she answered. "One would imagine that it was some one ofimportance. Are you any wiser than when you came, dear master?" sheadded, under her breath.
"Not a whit," he replied, promptly.
She took out her fan and waved it slowly in front of her face.
"Yet you must discover what it all means to-night or not at all," shewhispered. "The dear Andrea has intimated to me most delicately thatanother escort would be more acceptable if I should honor him again."
"That helps," he murmured. "See, our last guest arrives."
A tall,--spare-looking man was just being announced. They heard his nameas Andrea presented him to a companion--
"Colonel Mayson!"
Mademoiselle Celaire saw a gleam in her companion's eyes.
"It is coming--the idea?" she whispered.
"Very vaguely," he admitted.
"Who is this Colonel Mayson?"
"Our only military aeronaut," Peter replied.
She raised her eyebrows.
"Aeronaut!" she repeated, doubtfully. "I see nothing in that. Both myown country and Germany are years ahead of poor England in the air. Isit not so?"
Peter smiled and held out his arm.
"See," he said, "supper has been announced. Afterwards, Andrea Korustwill play to us, and I think that Colonel Mayson and his distinguishedbrother officer from India will talk. We shall see."
They passed into a room whose existence had suddenly been revealedby the drawing back of some beautiful brocaded curtains. Supper was adelightful meal, charmingly served. Peter, putting everything else outof his head for the moment, thoroughly enjoyed himself, and, rememberinghis duty as a guest, contributed in no small degree towards the successof the entertainment. He sat between Mademoiselle Celaire and hishostess, both of whom demanded much from him in the way of attention.But he still found time to tell stories which were listened to by everyone, and exchanged sallies with the gayest. Only Andrea Korust, from hisplace at the head of the table, glanced occasionally towards his popularguest with a curious, half-hidden expression of distaste and suspicion.
The more the Baron de Grost shone, the more uneasy he became. The signalto rise from the meal was given almost abruptly. Mademoiselle Korusthung on to Peter's arm. Her own wishes and her brother's orders seemedabsolutely to coincide. She led him towards a retiring corner of themusic room. On the way, however, Peter overheard the introduction whichhe had expected.
"General Noseworthy is just returned from India, Colonel Mayson,"Korust said, in his usual quiet, tired tone. "You will, perhaps, find itinteresting to talk together a little. As for me, I play because allare polite enough to wish it, but conversation disturbs me not in theleast."
Peter passed, smiling, on to the corner pointed out by his companion,which was the darkest and most secluded in the room. He took her fan andgloves, lit her cigarette, and leaned back by her side.
"How does your brother, a stranger to London, find time to make theacquaintance of so many interesting people?" he asked.
"He brought many letters," she replied. "He has friends everywhere."
"I have an idea," Peter remarked, "that an acquaintance of my own, theCount von Hern, spoke to me once about him."
She took her cigarette from her lips and turned her head slightly.Peter's expression was one of amiable reminiscence. His cheeks were atrifle flushed, his appearance was entirely reassuring. She laughed ather brother's caution. She found her companion delightful.
"Yes, the Count von Hern is a friend of my brother's," she admitted,carelessly.
"And of yours?" he whispered, his arm slightly pressed against hers.
She laughed at him silently and their eyes met. Decidedly Peter, Baronde Grost, found it hard to break away from his old weakness! AndreaKorust, from his place near the piano, breathed a sigh of relief as hewatched. A moment or two later, however, Mademoiselle Korust was obligedto leave her companion to receive a late but unimportant guest, andalmost simultaneously Colonel Mayson passed by on his way to the fartherend of the apartment. Andrea Korust was bending over the piano to givesome instructions to his accompanist. Peter leaned forward and his faceand tone were strangely altered.
"You will find General Noseworthy of the Indian Army a littleinquisitive, Colonel," he remarked.
The latter turned sharply round. There was meaning in those few words,without doubt! There was meaning, too, in the still, cold face whichseemed to repel his question. He passed on thoughtfully. MademoiselleKorust, with a gesture of relief, came back and threw herself once moreupon the couch.
"We must talk in whispers," she said, gayly. "Andrea always declaresthat he does not mind conversation, but too much noise is, of course,impossible. Besides, Mademoiselle Celaire will not spare you to me forlong."
"There is a whole language," he replied, "which was made for whispers.And as for Mademoiselle Celaire--"
"Well?"
He laughed softly.
"Mademoiselle Celaire is, I think, more your brother's friend thanmine," he murmured. "At least, I will be generous. He has given me adelightful evening. I resign my claims upon Mademoiselle Celaire."
"It would break your heart," she declared.
His voice sank even below a whisper. Decidedly, Peter, Baron de Grost,did not improve!
He rose to leave precisely at the right time, neither too early nor toolate. He had spent altogether a most amusing evening. There were one ortwo little comedies which had diverted him extremely. At the moment ofparting, the beautiful eyes of Mademoiselle Korust had been raised tohis very earnestly.
"You will come again very soon--to-morrow night?" she had whispered. "Isit necessary that you bring Mademoiselle Celaire?"
"It is altogether unnecessary," Peter replied.
"Let me try and entertain you instead, then!"
It was precisely at that instant that Andrea had sent for his sister.Peter watched their brief conversation with much interest and intenseamusement. She was being told not to invite him there again and she wasrebelling! Without a doubt, he had made a conquest! She returned to himflushed and with a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
"Monsieur le Baron," she said, leading him on one side, "
I am ashamedand angry."
"Your brother is annoyed because you have asked me here to-morrownight?" he asked, quickly.
"It is so," she confessed. "Indeed, I thank you that you have spared methe task of putting my brother's discourtesy into words. Andrea takesviolent fancies like that sometimes. I am ashamed, but what can I do?"
"Nothing, mademoiselle," he admitted, with a sigh. "I obey, of course.Did your brother mention the source of his aversion to me?"
"He is too absurd sometimes," she declared. "One must treat him like agreat baby."
"Nevertheless, there must be a reason," Peter persisted, gently.
"He has heard some foolish thing from Count von Hern," she admitted,reluctantly. "Do not let us think anything more about it. In a few daysit will have passed. And meanwhile--"
She paused. He leaned a little towards her. She was looking intently ata ring upon her finger.
"If you would really like to see me," she whispered, "and if you aresure that Mademoiselle Celaire would not object, could you not ask me totea to-morrow--or the next day?"
"To-morrow," Peter insisted, with a becoming show of eagerness. "Shallwe say at the Canton at five?"
She hesitated.
"Isn't that rather a public place?" she objected.
"Anywhere else you like."
She was silent for a moment. She seemed to be waiting for somesuggestion from him. None came, however.
"The Carlton at five," she murmured. "I am angry with Andrea. I feel,even, that I could break his wonderful violin in two!"
Peter sighed once more.
"I should like to twist von Hern's neck," he declared. "Lucky for himthat he's in St. Petersburg! Let us forget this unpleasant matter,mademoiselle. The evening has been too delightful for such memories."
Mademoiselle Celaire turned to her escort eagerly as soon as they werealone together in the car.
"As an escort, let me tell you, my dear Baron," she exclaimed, with somepique, "that you are a miserable failure! For the rest--"
"For the rest, I will admit that I am puzzled," Peter said. "I need tothink. I have the glimmerings of an idea--no more."
"You will act? It is an affair for us--for the Double-Four?"
"Without a doubt--an affair and a serious one," Peter assured her. "Ishall act; exactly how I cannot say until after to-morrow."
"To-morrow?" she repeated, inquiringly.
"Mademoiselle Korust takes tea with me," he explained.
In a quiet sort of way, the series of supper parties given by AndreaKorust became the talk of London. The most famous dancer in the worldbroke through her unvarying rule and night after night thrilled thedistinguished little gathering. An opera singer, the "star" of theseason, sang, a great genius recited, and Andrea himself gave always ofhis best. Apart from this wonderful outpouring of talent, Andrea Korusthimself seemed to possess the peculiar art of bringing into touch withone another people naturally interested in the same subjects. On thenight after the visit of Peter, Baron de Grost, His Grace the Duke ofRosshire was present, the man in whose hands lay the destinies of theBritish Navy; and, curiously enough, on the same night, a great Frenchwriter on naval subjects was present, whom the Duke had never met,and with whom he was delighted to talk for some time apart. On anotheroccasion, the Military Secretary to the French Embassy was able to havea long and instructive chat with a distinguished English general onthe subject of the recent maneuvers, and the latter received, in thestrictest confidence, some very interesting information concerning thenew type of French guns. On the following evening, the greatest of ourColonial statesmen, a red-hot Imperialist, was able to chat about theresources of the Empire with an English politician of similar viewswhom he chanced never to have previously met. Altogether, these partiesseemed to be the means of bringing together a series of most interestingpeople, interesting not only in themselves, but in their relations toone another. It was noticeable, however, that from this side of hislittle gatherings Andrea Korust remained wholly apart. He franklyadmitted that music and cheerful companionship were the only two thingsin life he cared for. Politics or matters of world import seemed toleave him unmoved. If a serious subject of conversation were started atsupper time, he was frankly bored, and took no particular pains to hidethe fact. It is certain that whatever interesting topics were alluded toin his presence, he remained entirely outside any understanding of them.Mademoiselle Celaire, who was present most evenings, although with otherescorts, was entirely puzzled. She could see nothing whatever to accountfor the warning which she had received, and which she had passed on, aswas her duty, to the Baron de Grost. She failed, also, to understandthe faint but perceptible enlightenment to which Peter himself hadadmittedly attained after that first evening. Take that importantconversation, for instance, between the French military attach, and theEnglish general. Without a doubt it was of interest, and especially soto the country which she was sure claimed his allegiance, but it wasequally without doubt that Andrea Korust neither overheard a word ofthat conversation nor betrayed the slightest curiosity concerningit. Mademoiselle Celaire was a clever woman and she had never felt sohopelessly at fault....
The seventh and last of these famous supper parties was in full swing.Notwithstanding the shaded candles, which left the faces of the guestsa little indistinct, the scene was a brilliant one. Mademoiselle Celairewas wearing her famous diamonds, which shone through the gloom likepin-pricks of fire. Garda Desmaines, the wonderful Garda, sat next toher host, her bosom and hair on fire with jewels, yet with the mostwonderful light of all glowing in her eyes. A famous actor, who hadthrown his proverbial reticence to the winds, kept his immediateneighbors in a state of semi-hysterical mirth. The clink of wineglasses, the laughter of beautiful women, the murmur of cultivatedvoices, rising and swelling through the faint, mysterious gloom, made apicturesque, a wonderful scene. Pale as a marble statue, with the covertsmile of the gracious host, Andrea Korust sat at the head of his table,well pleased with his company, as indeed he had the right to be. By hisside was a great American statesman, who was traveling around the worldand yet had refused all other invitations of this sort. He had come forthe pleasure of meeting the famous Dutch writer and politician, Mr. VanJool. The two were already talking intimately. It was at this point thattragedy, or something like it, intervened. A impatient voice washeard in the hall outside, a voice which grew louder and louder, moreimpatient, finally more passionate. People raised their heads to listen.The American statesman, who was, perhaps, the only one to realizeexactly what was coming, slipped his hand into his pocket and grippedsomething cold and hard. Then the door was flung open. An apologeticand much disturbed butler made the announcement which had evidently beendemanded of him.
"Mr. Von Tassen!"
A silence followed--breathless--the silence before the bursting of thestorm. Mr. Von Tassen was the name of the American statesman, and theman who rose slowly from his place by his host's side was the exactdouble of the man who stood now upon the threshold, gazing in upon theroom. The expression of the two alone was different. The newcomer wasfuriously angry, and looked it. The sham Mr. Von Tassen was very much athis ease. It was he who broke the silence, and his voice was curiouslyfree from all trace of emotion. He was looking his double over with anair of professional interest.
"On the whole," he said, calmly, "very good. A little stouter, Iperceive, and the eyebrows a trifle too regular. Of course, when youmake faces at me like that, it is hard to judge of the expression. I canonly say that I did the best I could."
"Who the devil are you, masquerading in my name?" the newcomer demanded,with emphasis. "This man is an impostor!" he added, turning to AndreaKorust. "What is he doing at your table?"
Andrea leaned forward and his face was an evil thing to look upon.
"Who are you?" he hissed out.
The sham Mr. Von Tassen turned away for a moment and stooped down. Thetrick has been done often enough upon the stage, often in less time, butseldom with more effect. The wonderful wig disappeared,
the spectacles,the lines in the face, the make-up of diabolical cleverness. With hisback to the wall and his fingers playing with something in his pocket,Peter, Baron de Grost, smiled upon his host.
"Since you insist upon knowing--the Baron de Grost, at your service!" heannounced.
Andrea Korust was, for the moment, speechless. One of the womenshrieked. The real Mr. Von Tassen looked around him helplessly.
"Will some one be good enough to enlighten me as to the meaning ofthis?" he begged. "Is it a roast? If so, I only want to catch on. Let meget to the joke, if there is one. If not, I should like a few words ofexplanation from you, sir," he added, addressing Peter.
"Presently," the latter replied. "In the meantime, let me persuade youthat I am not the only impostor here."
He seized a glass of water and dashed it in the face of Mr. Van Jool.There was a moment's scuffle, and no more of Mr. Van Jool. What emergedwas a good deal like the shy Maurice Korust, who accompanied his brotherat the music hall, but whose distaste for these gatherings had beenAndrea's continual lament. The Baron de Grost stepped back once moreagainst the wall. His host was certainly looking dangerous. MademoiselleCelaire was leaning forward, staring through the gloom with distendedeyes. Around the table every head was turned towards the centre of thedisturbance. It was Peter again who spoke.
"Let me suggest, Andrea Korust," he said, "that you send yourguests--those who are not immediately interested in this affair--intothe next room. I will offer Mr. Von Tassen then the explanation to whichhe is entitled."
Andrea Korust staggered to his feet. The nerve had failed. He wasshaking all over. He pointed to the music room.
"If you would be so good, ladies and gentlemen?" he begged. "We willfollow you immediately."
They went with obvious reluctance. All their eyes seemed focussed uponPeter. He bore their scrutiny with calm cheerfulness. For a moment hehad feared Korust, but that moment had passed. A servant, obeying hismaster's gesture, pulled back the curtains after the departing crowd.The four men were alone.
"Mr. Von Tassen," Peter said, easily, "you are a man who lovesadventures. To-night you experience a new sort of one. Over in yourgreat country, such methods are laughed at as the cheap device ofsensation mongers. Nevertheless, they exist. To-night is a proof thatthey exist."
"Get on to facts, sir," the American admonished. "You've got to explainto me what you mean by passing yourself off as Thomas Von Tassen, beforeyou leave this room."
Peter bowed.
"With much pleasure, Mr. Von Tassen," he declared. "For yourinformation, I might tell you that you are not the only person in whoseguise I have figured. In fact, I have had quite a busy week. I havebeen--let me see--I have been Monsieur le Marquis de Beau Kunel onthe night when our shy friend, Maurice Korust, was playing the part ofGeneral Henderson. I have also been His Grace the Duke of Rosshire whenmy friend Maurice here was introduced to me as Francois Defayal, knownby name to me as one of the greatest writers on naval matters. A littleawkward about the figure I found His Grace, but otherwise I think thatI should have passed muster wherever he was known. I have also passed asSir William Laureston, on the evening when my rival artist here sang thepraises of Imperial England."
Andrea Korust leaned forward with venomous eyes.
"You mean that it was you who was here last night in Sir WilliamLaureston's place?" he almost shrieked.
"Most certainly," Peter admitted, "but you must remember that, afterall, my performances have been no more difficult than those of yourshy but accomplished brother. Whenever I took to myself a strangepersonality I found him there, equally good as to detail, and with hissubject always at his finger tips. We settled that little matter of thecanal, didn't we?" Peter remarked, cheerfully, laying his hand upon theshoulder of the young man.
They stared at him, those two white-faced brothers, like tiger-catsabout to spring. Mr. Von Tassen was getting impatient.
"Look here," he protested, "you may be clearing matters up so far asregards Mr. Andrea Korust and his brother, but I'm as much in the fog asever. Where do I come in?"
"Your pardon, sir," Peter replied. "I am getting nearer things now.These two young men--we will not call them hard names--are sufferingfrom an excess of patriotic zeal. They didn't come and sit down ona camp stool and sketch obsolete forts, as those others of theircountrymen do when they want to pose as the bland and really exceedinglyignorant foreigner. They went about the matter with some skill. Itoccurred to them that it might be interesting to their country to knowwhat Sir William Laureston thought about the strength of the ImperialNavy, and to what extent his country was willing to go in maintainingtheir allegiance to Great Britain. Then there was the Duke of Rosshire.They thought they'd like to know his views as to the development of theNavy during the next ten years. There was that little matter, too, ofthe French guns. It would certainly be interesting to them to know whatMonsieur le Marquis de Beau Kunel had to say about them. These peoplewere all invited to sit at the hospitable board of our host here. I,however, had an inkling on the first night of what was going on, andI was easily able to persuade those in authority to let me play theirseveral parts. You, sir," Peter added, turning to Mr. Von Tassen, "you,sir, floored me. You were not an Englishman, and there was no appealwhich I could make. I simply had to risk you. I counted upon your notturning up. Unfortunately, you did. Fortunately, you are the last guest.This is the seventh supper."
Mr. Von Tassen glanced around at the three men and made up his mind.
"What do you call yourself?" he asked Peter.
"The Baron de Grost," Peter replied.
"Then, my friend the Baron de Grost," Von Tassen said, "I think that youand I had better get out of this. So I was to talk about Germany withMr. Van Jool, eh?"
"I have already explained your views," Peter declared, with twinklingeyes. "Mr. Van Jool was delighted."
Mr. Von Tassen shook with laughter.
"Say," he exclaimed, "this is a great story! If you're ready, Baron deGrost, lead the way to where we can get a whiskey and soda and a chat."
Mademoiselle Celaire came gliding out to them.
"I am not going to be left here," she whispered, taking Peter's arm.
Peter looked back from the door.
"At any rate, Mr. Andrea Korust," he said, "your first supper was asuccess. Colonel Mayson was genuine. Our real English military aeronautwas here, and he has disclosed to you, Maurice Korust, all that he everknew. Henceforth, I presume your great country will dispute with us forthe mastery of the air.
"Queer country, this!" Mr. Von Tassen remarked, pausing on the step tolight a cigar. "Seems kind of humdrum after New York, but there's no usetalking. Things do happen over here, anyway!"